#like to me that shows the person was engaged enough with it to formulate an opinion and response to the original post

[bioswear]

LOL what if someone comes in and calls me performative for reblogging that last post because it has an image description in it 😂😂😂😂COULD YOU IMAGINE

[sjswrites]

You Are Worthy

Summary: A little fanfix from AoU. You're Thor's daughter and had to show the boys up.

Warnings: Just fluuuuuffff. My baby deserved this.

A/N: Hiii. Last weekend was hectic, buuut here's the posts you were gonna get, plus a bonus one. Enjoy! 🥰

Masterlist

“Goddess,” A whisper came from the doorway. In the reflect of the mirror, the redhead leaned against the doorframe in her dark red suit. “How did I get so lucky, huh?” She pushed off the door frame. “I don’t deserve you.” She whispered as her arms snaked around my waist and her lips placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder.

“You do.” My head leaned up against hers. “You deserve everything, baby. You are one of the greatest heroes in the world, but more importantly,” I spun around to face her. “The greatest girlfriend in the world.”

She scoffed. “You must be talking about yourself.” She deflected as I glared at her.

”I’m serious, Natasha.” I kissed her lips. We moved like an ocean of love and lust. I slowly pulled away as she sighed. “I know, you don’t believe me, but it’s true. You are worthy of good things. You’re an amazing person.” My finger swiped away some strands of red away from her warm, green eyes. “Don’t be so mean to yourself… okay?”

She defeatedly nodded as she kissed my nose. “I’ll try. Just for you.”

I shook my head. “Do it for you.”

“Okay Thor. Put her down again. I need to try again.” Tony said as the Avengers quickly gathered around the show. My father laid his hammer down gently on the table as Tony stepped up. He tapped his watch as both of his gloves grew onto his hands and up his arms. He strained as he pulled and his thruster were fully engaged, but to no avail Mjonir did not budge. I chuckled to myself as I made myself comfortable in Nat’s lap, wrapping my arm around her neck.

“Baby, have you ever tried?” I whispered in her ear.

She shook her head. “That’s not an answer I need to be confirmed by a godly weapon. Thank you, but no thank you.”

“Would you try for me?” She looked at me searching and scanning for the joke part of what I asked her. “I bet you’d look really sexy holding it.” I whispered while nibbling on her ear.

“No.” She simply replied.

“Pleeeease.” I pouted my lip.

“Wow. You’re really pulling all the tricks out, huh?” I nodded, eagerly. “No. I don’t want to.” I sighed as I looked at my father and back at Tony. “You do it.”

I looked around the room. All the men had tried to lift my father’s hammer several times. Tony, Bruce, and Clint had tried in the past. Actually multiple triumphant attempts. The only one with any really progress was Cap. The slight wiggle of the hammer gave my father the slight tension in his chest. The women around the table simply refused. Maybe it was the internal notion that we all felt… The fear of not being good enough. The fear of rejection. The fear of being shamed.

“Fine. I will.” A devilish plan formulated in my head. All eyes shifted to me as I strutted my way over to the hammer. “One question, though.” The crowd’s curiosity only grew. “Has anyone ever wanted to kiss me?” A few shy hands raised as Natasha’s eyes narrowed at me. “Aww come on, babe. I feel like you're obligated to raise your hand.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at me. “Fine,” I put my hand around the handle as it lightly came up. I pointed the hammer at Kate and Peter who had her hand up. “I guess, I’m making dreams come true tonight.” I looked over at my father who beamed proudly as I flipped the hammer in my hand.

“Fine.” Natasha said as she raised her hand. I quickly threw the hammer at her hand as she caught it. My jaw dropped as I smiled at her.

“I knew it!” I ran back to her, giggling as a small like grin grew on the redhead’s face. She dropped the hammer as it fell through the floor and I jumped in her arms. “I told you.”

“Whatever.” She shook her head before pulling me in for an Earth-shattering kiss for the night we’d remember for the rest of lives.

Masterlist

[dotster001]

I love the idea that Sirena doesn’t really like any of her kids, she wanted a perfect doll vs a child. Reminds me of Riddle’s mom. After each kid started to show their true personality vs a babbling baby, she would start talking about another baby, not cause she wanted another but because this last one was « defective » I bet Floyd has huge screaming matches with her over if they should punish the kids for a bad grade, or « looking bad » in public.

Picture Sirena learning about poor reader, and now you have a beautiful woman holding a knife to your neck while Floyd barters for your life! Maybe to mess with Floyd she hires you as a gardener! They’re being super toxic towards eachother while trying to get you to fall for the other! Kids need a mother/father figure in their lives after all! If something were to happen they hope you would be willing to step up!

Warning: toxic Sirena, also this turned into a ramble,

Yeah. She and Floyd hate each other, but if she wants to ever be head of the Leech family, (after Papa Leech dies, and after she finishes her plan to kill Floyd) she needs an heir. Otherwise the position will go to Jade. As it is, she is very nervous that Papa Leech is leaning towards co ownership between the twins, and she can't have that.

Unfortunately, thanks to Floyd's influence, these kids all have a stupid flaw, free will. It's ridiculous really. Don't they know their whole purpose is to be her pawn?

She knows the Leech family reputation, and while Floyd has yet to go to the lengths she has to get rid of her, she knows there's a possibility that one day he'll finally snap and take her down. In fact she's a little surprised it has taken this long, considering the way she's seen Jade and Azul seriously quietly talking to Floyd, and throwing glances her way from time to time. Every time they have those "chats" Floyd always just sighs and rolls his eyes. It tells her all she needs to know. She's safe right now. Though she had, in her youth, hoped to be engaged to Jade, she knows now that she's lucky, and begrudgingly owes Floyd one, because Jade would have killed her by now if it wasn't for Floyd's protection.

And she knows where that protection comes from. Her family has it's own connections, so she learned, just as the twins did, how to play people like a chessboard. Floyd is lonely. Floyd hopes that one day, no matter how much they hate each other, they will one day fall in love and be a normal family. Also, Floyd spent his whole life dreaming of a big family. And she needs lots of children so that she doesn't lose her position to Jade when the time comes. So, she doesn't mind letting him have his big family, hell, it may be the reason she is still breathing. Until she realizes how strong Leech genetics are. None of these kids are worthy. None are good enough. And Floyd doesn't help by refusing to betrothe them to people who are worthy. (These are the largest screaming battles. Floyd refuses to let his children be miserable like he is)

It's after the birth of the youngest that she starts to formulate an idea of how to get rid of him, then send the brats to a school where manners and decorum will be pounded into them.

....

....

....

As to beautiful woman holding a knife to my throat, ehehehehehhe that's definitely a thought. When I was making her picrew, I had an "Oh no, she's hot" moment, so tbh, if she held a knife to my throat I would be so distracted 😂 like, TWO pretty people are putting attention on me? Wowie wow wow!

She's so petty, she totally would hire you to work in her house, and not tell Floyd. Then she'd sit smugly as he freaks out when he finds you cleaning a toilet or something. I have ideas in place for you looking for a new job because "the economy", and you don't tell Floyd you're quitting, cause why would you, he's just a customer. Then he gets furious, because this must mean you hate him, how dare you, yadda yadda

But what if, when you are starting to think about quitting, this gorgeous woman comes in and just happens to be looking for a new housekeeper. You don't tell Floyd, cause why would you he's just a customer etc etc, he still gets crazy angry (as do the kids).

Sirena may be a terrible person, and someone who shouldn't be a mother, but she is an excellent lady of the house. She knows everyone's day to day schedule so that she can successfully keep you away from literally anyone but her until the absolutely perfect moment. You could be working in that house for months before you ever see a soul besides her.

She's a horrible person, and yells at you all the time for literally no reason, but the pay is ridiculously good, so leaving doesn't feel like an option. Besides, she says this is only her winter and spring home, and that they are a family of mers, and would totally be willing to take you with them when they return to their ocean home for summer and fall. And you've always wanted to visit the ocean, but never had the funds yourself, so you really can't pass up the opportunity. You can deal with some emotional distress for the opportunity of a lifetime.

It's probably Jade (Jr.) that finds you first. He's the youngest, and therefore hardest to predict, so it's hard for Sirena to keep him in check. But because he's the youngest, no one believes him when he says that he saw mom/dad cleaning his room. Pearl sees you next when she's ditching a social function, and from there the whole house knows.

Except papa.

Papa is still trying to track you down like a blood hound. He doesn't realize you are literally living in his home... because he himself is rarely home.

But the showdown is coming.

And you, who still is blissfully unaware of the trap you are in, are not ready for what's coming.

[drdemonprince]

autistic anon here again, thanks for fielding my question, you're a real one for not all toxic positivity on it. i guess i should've formulated things better, because i didn't mean to imply being completely wrapped up in decision paralysis to the point of doing nothing. that's a mental hurdle i've cleared a long time ago, so shit gets done. i have a few emails sitting in my inbox of fundraisers i helped with that closed out, and it;s making me emotional just thinking about it.

there's a weird disconnect between knowing that you're just one person (and that's something i actually like, i'm no-one special, that's a very freeing thought), and fully feeling it. because somewhere there's always a nagging worry i could do more. as true as it is, reminding yourself you're doing what you can feels like a convenient self-soothing lie when you're in the pit of a bad night. probably the calvinist whispering poisons in your ear. (being afraid of falling in the trap of slacktivism or just reposting everything as a signal boost and patting myself on the back for a job well done, amongst them. which is BS, but knowing isn't believing.)

i mentioned the autistic part for a reason, because community is something i've never quite experienced and only understand in the abstract. like those fundraisers i helped with many, many other people, that's a community effort and i'm proud i could contribute my little bit. translating that to in-person efforts has been a big ??? though. it's not very parseable or approachable to me.

i hadn't quite grokked this as all being part of shame, i have your book sitting here and have read it a while, probably should reread it.

Hey, thanks for writing back! I hear from people of all levels of engagement, from having never done anything to like dedicated black bloc hard core mother fuckers so it's hard to gauge from a single message what someone's particular situation is.

It sounds like you are already doing a ton, choosing actions to take, following through on them, reflecting on the impact of your tactics, and then regrouping to do more and to try things differently where you can. Yet you still feel like shit sometimes and as if you're not doing enough. What to do about those feelings?

Well. Consider those feelings aren't a problem you have to fix. They're just a thing that will happen. Because of cultural conditioning and endless exposure to alarming messages and imagery online they're just gonna come up. Those feelings can just exist while you keep doing the damn thing.

You've already got your behavior on lock. You're doing what you can and not succumbing to choice paralysis. You're hopefully not burning yourself out. It doesn't sound like anything needs to change, maybe other than you not consuming too much online bullshit that's making you feel even more guilty needlessly.

You say: "there's a weird disconnect between knowing that you're just one person (and that's something i actually like, i'm no-one special, that's a very freeing thought), and fully feeling it."

Yeah, you might not ever fully feel it. As long as you keep acting like it's true, you're good imo.

i feel like the most evil selfish unlovable human being alive most days. it doesn't really matter that i do. it sucks, but that's just a fact of how my life has been. i can keep picking myself up and doing what i have decided is right for me to do anyway. i do what i can to avoid triggers that make that feeling worse, so that it doesn't become a barrier to action, but otherwise i just... keep on living, with terrible emotions and terrible thoughts. and i focus on my actions.

As for the community piece, I hear you, it's really fucking hard. I think it's very humbling work that is so worth doing though. Often it involves showing up to the work that a group is doing and living with the fact that you won't know what the fuck is going on and looking inept for a while. it's a necessary distress tolerance building exercise, getting more comfortable with just being there and rearranging the chairs and setting up the food and feeling like a dumbass who has nothing to contribute.

being able to sit with those feelings and keep showing up and not having an ego about it is enough to earn a lot of trust and foster deeper connections, I find. so many people fail to be able to even do that in most organizing/activist/volunteering spaces. I understand it feels mortifying but it is another one of those situations of getting over oneself in a way that's ultimately so freeing and beautiful. when you can accept that people want you around even if you never have anything to say and do nothing but bring paper cups and take out the trash. it's a real object lesson in how not being all that important can be a wonderful thing and make it possible for us to find love and acceptance.

[artist-issues]

Fair enough, you did request this continue in the asks.

1) you talk about the Jewish God, then use orthodox Jewish beliefs as an example, and then excoriate Sugar - who is not orthodox - for not meeting those standards. And then go back to saying Jewish. You talk about Jews but every time you try to prove something, you specify orthodox. Which makes it sound like you think the only authentic way to be Jewish is to be orthodox. Which is both wrong and woefully incomplete, given how wide ranging orthodox approaches are.

2) you could probably have avoided a lot of grief if you prefaced that “the Christian perspective (or specific to a denomination) is that…”.

Because while you have the same right to claim what your religion says as any of us, it is equally correct for me to make those claims about mine. Christianity thinks that Jews and Christians worship the same God. Jews think that the invention of the trinity and the idea of a divine messiah is deep fundamental heresy and that the god you worship is as far away from our God as Zeus. It is disingenuous to talk about what Christians believe is true about Jews without noting that Jews disagree.

Which gets me to my next point—the things you say Jews believe is incorrect.

- We don’t believe that Tanakh contains all that can be known about God. The entire rabbinic project has been about engaging with the Torah as the starting point for a deep and ongoing conversation with God and that halakha - Jewish law - is God’s invitation for us to build a world with God. And the capacity of halakha to shift and move and remain both rooted in tradition and open to the world is a sign of what some Jewish theologians calls cumulative revelation. As new ideas become widespread in Judaism, their acceptance is a mark of God’s will. God speaks to us through us.

- what I mean by “you’re telling the Christian story” is that no Jewish person ever would describe what we did as ignoring God. We would describe ourselves as being in ongoing relationship with the TV show’s creator while Christianity decided the plot was too hard to follow halfway through season 2 and went off to create an unlicensed spin-off with none of the original creative team.

Again, it’s abundantly clear to me that that’s not how you conceptualize your own religion. But when you’re describing why Jews and Christians are similar, you’re characterizing Judaism in ways that are not internally true. It’s like saying “we’re best friends” when what you mean is “I think you’re my best friend, but you think we are passing acquaintances.” Or, to put it another way, saying “they’re the same god” is no less true than calling Christianity an idolatrous offshoot insofar as one reflects the Christian worldview and the other the Jewish. We each have the right to affirm our own theologies, but it’s important to note that they are internal theologies and Jews don’t agree with your characterization. We think you left our God and made up your own when Jesus become understood as divine.

- this is also not internal to Jewish theology. There’s a whole debate about what is called טעמי מצוות - the reasons for commandments - and the debate includes but ranges far beyond the particularity of the Israelite nation and right worship. This also gets back to the point that rabbinic Judaism takes the Torah as a gift from God and the starting point for the formulation of halakha. Not the end point. We’re expected to come back and negotiate and ask for clarification. Rabbinic literature is RIFE with the stories of how we negotiate with God, including the famous story of the Oven of Akhnai where (were in around 120 CE at this point) a heavenly voice emerges telling the rabbis who is correct and the rabbis disagree anyway and God in heaven laughs with delight and says “my sons have defeated me”. An integral part of Jewish theology is the idea that we too have authority when it comes to the meaning of the Torah and the ability to interpret and make meaning. So any time you claim that something is explicit in Tanakh and supports the Christian perspective, the odds are very good that it’s an interpretive move made by Christians and not Jews. (There is no such thing as a plain meaning of the text, all meaning is interpretation.)

Also point 2 is outside of Jewish theology. There’s no idea in Judaism that we NEED to fix our relationship with God from the get go. It is possible for an individual to sin and need to repent, but the idea is always that human beings have in themselves the capacity to do that. And some rabbis even say that baalei teshuva - those who have erred and repented - stand higher than the completely righteous. There’s also a saying in the Talmud: רצה הקדוש ברוך הוא לזכות את ישראל, לפיכך הרבה להם תורה ומצות - The holy blessed one wished to bestow merit upon the Jewish people and therefore made for them much Torah and many mitzvot. It’s an opportunity.

3) I assume others have mentioned the No True Scotsman fallacy and…it’s just not true that Christians who do terrible things in Christ’s name are not Christians any more than Jews who do terrible things stop being Jews. The relationship between Judaism and Christianity is possibly irreparably harmed because of how often people calling themselves Christians murdered Jews. And it is still Christianity’s failure as a religion that it creates people who so horribly violate its tenets in its name. It is the responsibility of a religion and those who adhere to it to do something about those who claim to follow it and go on to commit atrocities. Even if they are no longer Christians in your view, they are Christianity’s problem and Christianity’s responsibility.

And making claims about what Jews believe without even having the grace to note that you are speaking of the Christian conception and that Jews would not agree with this view is…not reassuring me that Christianity as such has gotten better about seeing the real, distinct humanity of the Jewish people beyond their usefulness in making Christianity look older.

I think I actually have no fundamental disagreement with you on points 1 and 2, with the exception that I don’t believe it was necessary for me to clarify “Christians believe this” more than I already did. I presented it as objective truth because that’s what it is; I didn’t want to focus on “my belief,” and the cultural preference for couching everything in terms of “my truth but maybe not your truth;” I wanted to focus on the truth, and so I presented it as such.

My point was that Christians believe that God did and said what He did and said as recorded in the Old Testament, and as I understand it, so do Jews. I have met with those who do, so that is who I am talking about. Those Jews who do not believe that the Old Testament all literally occurred in history as written, or that God is not who He presents Himself to be in the Old Testament, are not who I’m talking about.

In that sense, (my point) we believe in the same God, and then when we disagree about the person and deity of Jesus Christ, sure, we no longer do. Because how could we believe in the same Being if one “version” of that Being did something the other “version” did not do? That was sort of my whole point. That’s common sense. Obviously if you tell me your life story, and I agree with you that that happened, and then you move away and continue living your life, but I make up stories about what you’re continuing to do thousands of miles away, we’re no longer talking about the same “abotl.” Again, that’s common sense. I didn’t communicate that clearly enough, evidently. So I’m glad you pursued sending this ask.

Another exception to my general agreement with you would be that, if you check the comments where Sugar’s being a Jew was originally brought up, I made the point that I did not know what branch of Judaism she was claiming to adhere to, but if her show did not communicate values in line with Judaism, it had no bearing on the commentary on God I was observing. Because she can’t be the kind of person who says “I believe in God’s authority” but also “I don’t believe God has any authority.” If she says both those things, she’s lying about one or both; they contradict one another.

Obviously, in addition, I think it’s sort of fruitless to talk about different interpretations of the Torah because we’re coming at it from two completely different bases. I think the most foundational difference is that you believe that “there is no such thing as a plain meaning of a text, all meaning is interpretation.” That’s not true. You’re arguing with words I wrote down concerning Jewish theology; that would be totally pointless if you didn’t assume I had a intended meaning as the author, and pursue the points I made as if you had discovered what that intended meaning was. Now, you might be wrong about my intended meaning (which would be incorrect interpretation.) But even to be “wrong,” that necessitates that there is a “right.” Your statement also implies that any practical, useful, applicable or important information (“meaning”) that can be found in Scripture is assigned by the humans reading it, which re,elates Scrioture to the same level as any man-made text (albeit remarkably well-preserved and ancient.) Unless my interpretation of your words is incorrect.

So I can’t reasonably discuss the meaning of something with someone who doesn’t believe in plain meaning regardless of interpretation.

As for point 3…

The relationship is not “irreparably harmed.” I can’t fix it, but Christ can. It’s a bold claim to make that any human relationship can be “beyond repair” when there’s a sovereign God.

I have answered this repetitively, and I’ll do it one more time, but then I have to be done because it’s falling on deaf ears: the word “Christian” means “little Christ.” Therefore if you do not act like Christ, especially in major lifestyle choices, you are not being, in that moment or as long as you defend and embrace those choices, a little Christ. Even if you still claim the title. Even if you go to church. Even if you and your actions are associated with the name. Because the only qualifier for the word “Christian” is “lives in Christ.” And like I said: the murder of Jews, or anybody, or the torture of , racism toward, and cruelty toward anybody, is in no way what Jesus taught, or would do. Again; if a vegetarian eats meat, they’re not a vegetarian. It sounds like you’re confusing people calling themselves something with them actually being that thing. The “No True Scots” fallacy requires that I change the definition of “Christianity” to make exceptions when counterexamples to my original definition are brought up; nowhere have I changed the definition of “Christian” from my original explanation to do that. Therefore, it’s not a “No True Scots” fallacy, just like a professed-Christian who isn’t in Christ is not a Christian.

“And it is still Christianity’s failure as a religion that it creates people who so horribly violate its tenets in its name. It is the responsibility of a religion and those who adhere to it to do something about those who claim to follow it and go on to commit atrocities. Even if they are no longer Christians in your view, they are Christianity’s problem and Christianity’s responsibility.”

That’s very untrue. First off: suggesting that Christianity “failed” as a religion because “it created” the people who do the opposite of what Christ teaches is impossible, because it would be like saying “a mom taught her son to never eat meat and because of that he ate meat.” Okay, well, you could come up with a connection between the two, like, “the son felt so desperate to eat something other than fruits and vegetables that he decided to try meat.” But the mom and her teachings are in no way responsible for that connection. If the son followed her teachings and, what’s more, believed in them, he wouldn’t have eaten meat. That’s what necessarily follows from genuine adherence to a belief faithfully taught. Instead, it is because of something in the son, disliking or disagreeing with the teaching, not something in the teaching, that he deviated from it. His reaction to the teaching is not prescribed by the teaching. He can blame his reaction, or his actions independent of the teaching, on the teaching. He can say it was too restrictive, but ultimately, his choices are his. And the teaching told him to do the opposite of what he’s doing.

It’d be the same if you asked me to walk your dog, with those words exactly, and I went out and killed your dog in the middle of the street, then grabbed your neighbors dogs and started adding them to the murder scene—and did it all screaming at the top of my lungs, “this is what abotl told me to do! I do this in the name of abotl!” And later, when I’m accused and denounced, I say, “abotl said to walk their dog. Walk means kill, and kill progressively, like taking one step in front of the other. I’m a follower of abotl, so I did what they said to do.” All I did was take the opposite of what you told me to do and claim that that opposite was the correct interpretation of your words.

But are you responsible for that? Are any of your actual followers who do safely walk and care for your dog responsible for my actions? Of course not.

You could contrive some responsibility. You could say, “well in that scenario, abotl should’ve known enough about artist-issues to see that their interpretation of words was seriously flawed and they just wanted to kill dogs; abotl never should have entrusted their dog to someone like artist-issues, or should’ve explained more clearly, just like Christians should have seen the danger of murderers in their midst and taught them not to murder more clearly.” But that’s still only responsibility up to a point.

Christians aren’t omnipresent, omnipotent, or omniscient. They can’t be expected to know every thought and intention of the members of their congregation. They can’t explain any more clearly than God Himself does, and they can’t change man’s hearts. All they can do is be faithful to replace lies with the truth of what Christ said and fight injustice when and where they have the opportunity, the way God tells them to fight in Scripture.

That said, we do do something when people commit atrocities; both in the misuse of the name of Christianity, and not.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the Christian pastor, is a prime example. (I know that it’s popular to call him “antisemetic,” but if all that term means is “believes the Christian doctrine that Jews should become Christians,” well, that’s not discriminatory toward Jews, because we believe that about everybody, including ourselves before we became Christians. It’s not a special desire to wipe out any one culture or people and swallow them into our religion; it’s a doctrine of general “humanity is broken, but in Christ can be made whole, and should be.”) And the point here is that he, flawed though he was, knew that Hitler’s German Christianity regime was anti-Biblical, and anti-teachings-of-Christ, just like the vegetarians that eat meat. He not only gave up his life, his career, his safety, and his good name to protect Jews from the Holocaust, but he also actively spoke out against Hitler, Hitler’s German Christianity institution, any professing Protestant who welcomed the Nazi regime or teaching, and eventually was hung for trying to assassinate Hitler. And he’s just a big name representative of many Christians who protected the oppressed or died trying, against people who were doing the oppressing in Christ’s name.

In America, the slave trade was long defended by people who claimed Christ. They even had Scripture, incorrectly interpreted and improperly applied, to back up their oppression and cruelty. But people like William Wilberforce, John Newton, and Harriet Beecher Stowe (who quoted or alluded to Scripture almost 100 times in the abolitionist book Uncle Tom’s Cabin) pointed out how definitively anti-Christian the slave trade and the oppression of people were with their whole lives; they correctly interpreted Scripture and properly applied Jesus' teaching to do this.

Christians are fallen human beings saved by the grace of Christ who are not perfect, nor do they fight for truth and the protection of the innocent perfectly. In fact, they get it woefully wrong a lot of the time. But Jesus said we would. And that His grace is sufficient for our weakness. So our failures don’t mean we stop trying, and it certainly doesn’t mean that any time we fail, we discredit the teachings of Christ.

If you want to imply “well some Christians oppress savagely, and some Christians protect the innocent, so who’s to say which one is “real Christianity?” All Christians, the whole religion, is corrupt!” The Christian would answer, “well, yeah. We’re human. We never said we were following Christ’s teachings perfectly. We’re just trying to do it increasingly, by grace, through faith. We’re not perfect. Christ’s teachings are perfect.”

You can call it a cop-out if you want. But honestly, the responsibility for sin is on the sinner alone, unless they give their life to Christ, then He takes the punishment and enables them to live the rest of their lives as imperfect but increasingly sanctified followers of His teachings. Ultimate judgement belongs to God alone, even if there are consequences to wrongdoing on earth. And that’s been a tenet of the Christian faith since the Christian faith existed. So nobody’s moving the goalposts or re-defining the original definition.

Finally, we acknowledge Jewish people’s real, distinct humanity. Just because we also acknowledge the connection between the history of the Jewish people and faith and our faith does not mean that we’re minimizing you, your experience, or your humanity. But the truth of the matter is, either Jesus was the Son of God or He wasn’t. We can each believe we’re right, but one or both of us have to be wrong. We can’t both be right. And there’s no “ignoring of humanity” that comes with a Christian saying, “I am right about this.” Any more than there would be any “ignoring of Christians’ humanity” that comes along with a Jew saying, “No, I am right about this.” That’s what it boils down to. Also, who’s doing that? Who’s trying to say that Jews are only valuable because they make Christianity look older? I’d like to talk to that person. If it’s me, you’ve wildly misunderstood and mischaracterized me.

Thanks for wording this so thoroughly and pursuing a conversation with me.

(NOTE: Anyone who wants to dogpile on here, find their own offenses with what I’ve said or what abotl’s said, and decry one of us as racist or bigoted or stupid or whatever, I’m not talking to you here. Don’t expect any replies. I’m all done with the trolling. On this particular post, I’m talking to abotl. If you’ve got something to add respectfully, or to defend because you genuinely believe it, you can do it in my Inbox. It’s open to anybody who can reason because they’ve thought through what they believe and want to defend it beyond name-calling and reading what they want into other people’s words.)

[vivacissimx]

I genuinely love anything related to ASOIAF world. Still, due to the ongoing drama and harassment I've seen writers experiencing on Tumblr I decided to withdraw myself and protect my peace. Lately, I've been missing it here, but I'm still sceptical about jumping and pursuing writing for the fandom again. Can I ask you how you manage to stay drama-free and have a peaceful blog that I truly enjoy, despite the ongoing situation?

I definitely understand where you are coming from and have been in that position before, where the personalities of the fandom got under my skin. Existing in a community requires a balance that varies from person to person & you alone can know what works for you. What works for me personally is to have a circle, or several circles, of people who enjoy the characters/themes you enjoy. Having people to bitch about fandom with is not this! In my experience, your relationships need to have a positive foundation. And, yknow, these are people who you should show up for when they create things too. You don't have to force yourself to do more than you want to, but engaging with their metas, artwork, fics, headcanons, even just adding a bit in the tags/comments or having an open mind to something you hadn't considered before is a great way to foster good times in fandom! Being positive and generous is the best way to invite positivity and generosity back.

Which is probably the other thing about enjoying fandom-- you should be a creator! When you create and grow and share it'll naturally attract similar energy to you. There are people I've never had a conversation with ever, but they show up in my comments sections sometimes and that alone makes fandom feel like a place where I can connect with other people who nerd out in the same direction as I do. Not only that, but you'll hone a creative skill in ways that surprise and excite you. Learning about writing by writing fic & learning how to read by constructing meta has been hugely rewarding for me. Of course, harassment is a different thing. I have had to moderate my comments or turn off anon at different points. "Don't feed the trolls" is golden advice, in my experience. When they don't get the attention they want, they tend to disappear.

And, because I'm not delusional, I suppose the last thing is to just ignore 99% of the bullshit. It doesn't matter. It'll blow over. It'll start up again. It's a constant cycle. Block liberally. People talk online in ways they never would dare in real life. When you catch yourself getting mad and gearing up to say something, just leave it for 24 hours. Chances are you won't care anymore. That's not me saying to tolerate bullshit, but engage with fandom on your terms and not because you feel cornered by someone else's ridiculous opinion. If I'm really incensed by someone's hot take I will open a new text post and try to formulate a meta about the process of how I came to my (diametrically opposite) conclusion. That's way more productive/effective than engaging in discourse, I've found. On the flip side, if you catch yourself in a weird situation with someone you consider a friend and you're starting to resent them: communicate, communicate, communicate. I can't stress it enough. Don't let things fester to the point that it's tainting your relationship to something you love or someone you care about. There is no relationship on Earth without it's disagreements and it's equally as toxic to try and create total uniformity as it is to constantly argue with people.

That's pretty much how I find my balance. I still take steps back from fandom when I need to or when I'm not having fun, and that's healthy. Hobbies in general should happen at your capacity, on your schedule. Now your balance will be different than mine, most likely, but I hope there's something here you can use regardless!

[mrbexwrites]

Thoughts on Beta Readers

Apologies in advance if this turns into a bit of a ramble; I've had a lot of thoughts in my head, and I needed to somewhere to formulate them into a coherent stream.

I made this writblr page about a year ago after realising that I have written loads of stories, but never really thought about sharing them. I still don't know what I'm ultimately going to do with any of them- I don't think I have the skills/fortitude to go through Trad or Indie pub, nor the stamina and/or headspace for self-pub and trying to be my own hype/marketing person just doesn't appeal to me.

I like the writing part of writing; not so much anything else, as anyone who has seen any of my other posts will attest to! I think in just about every post I've ever published, it's just me grumbling about editing!

Anyway- sorry, I digress (in my defense, I did say that this would be a rambling post, so you only have yourself to blame if you've made it this far into my diatribe!). I've only been brave enough to share snippets of my WIPs through tag games, and everyone who had liked, commented or reblogged something- has given me that little dopamine spike and helped me find some courage to share my work.

I put out a call for beta readers, and some amazing people have taken the time and effort to read something that I've written.

I'm not a confident person, and I really worried that my story was garbage. I think I've stared at the documents so many times, that I could no longer see the woods from the trees. There were bits that I wasn't happy with, but couldn't figure out why. I was worried that I didn't have enough research under my belt to handle sentitive topics. Some sections felt too heavy, or dull. I found my own writing boring, my characters bland, scenes didn't gel, action felt disjointed etc etc.

Basically, I was in a bit of a tailspin, or a slump, a funk...and I didn't know how to dig myself out of the hole that I'd managed to clamber into. Normally, when I finish a WIP, it's done, and I don't do anything with it. It just stays in my docs folder, and backed up to an external hard-drive.

Rather than just continuing to stare at a document for hours, wondering what to do, I found my beta readers, and sent my first draft over to them (hoping that I'd managed to find all typos- lol, that didn't happen. Typos still managed to escape me -_-' )

I've seen several posts on my dash from folk complaining about interaction and the writblr community. My posts don't get a lot of engagement, which is fine (not trying to join a pity party- just stating facts!) but I've found that the interaction that I do have from followers, mutual or random folk has been really meaningful.

I've gone from dreading sharing my work, to being excited to post snippets, and being tagged in games, getting to see what everyone else has been working on. (I appreciate that I'm a bit of a hypocrite, as I'm not very good at engaging with others on this site- I worry about coming across as a complete weirdo creep, and I struggle to find new ways of saying 'omg, I love this, show me more' in the tags! Or to think of asks to send, even though several people diligently send me asks every week! I'm trying to get better, I promise!)

Sorry- rambling again. I just...adklsdfgskhdfh

I'm honestly gobsmacked by the effort that my beta readers put into my WIP, and the kind comments, feedback and suggestions that they've made. I genuinely believed that I would get ' meh, it was okay' in the best scenario that I'd worked out in my head. Their engagement and feedback has been so helpful and I appreciate it so much.

It's helped me identify the sticking points that I was having, why I was unhappy with some scenes, characters etc etc. They have really helped me take that step back, and re-evaluate things, rather than just staring at the screen and feeling like a deer in the headlights. I was so worried/scared about sharing an entire WIP, but it's been worth it.

So, if anyone is in the same boat as me- scared to take the plunge- dip your toe in the water. Share snippets, work up to finding a beta reader or two, get outside input, rather than just sitting and staring trying to work it out on your own.

There are a lot of people out there willing to share their knowledge, and help you get the most out of your story.

Special thank you to @sam-glade and @at-thezenith for taking the time to give me such thorough feedback. I honestly can't thank you enough for your input and comments.

I'm going to stop rambling now, before this gets any more unhinged!

TL;DR- don't be a little writblr gremlin, lurking in the shadows. Engage with the community, and because they're awesome, they'll help you out!

[monster-noises]

I have spoken before on my trouble trying to do the thing where i Show Up to things and... Actually successfully follow through on the next step of Making Connections and a big biiig part of that that i'm going to vomit onto my blog about today is that I just

Mmmm

I simply have No Thoughts and that makes having conversations very! Very hard!

Now this isn't a~silly quirky~ like "No Thoughts Head Empty uwu" thing

What I'm struggling with when i'm trying to talk to people, usually strangers or people I've just met but this can and does stretch to people i've known for y e a r s too,

is that they will say something; express an opinion, tell me about something, give story about their life, you know, the things you have conversations about and in response my brain just Goes Silent.

and it's not that I'm not listening, I'm actually really good at the Listening part of having a conversation, but if the person I'm trying to talk to does not go off on some long diatribe or ask me a very specific question to formulate a response around...

it's radio static! it's a soft and thoughtless buzz maybe sometimes permeated by a vague feeling associated with what they were saying that, really, forms no basis for a response beyond basic platitudes.

I'd Love to say that like "Well actually I Do have thoughts but I'm so anxious about embarrassing myself I just can't voice them" but I dunno! because if it's that I probably wouldn't be writing this post because That's something I can Work On. I know what to do with something like That. This isn't!!!! That Though!! Experiencing this in real time in a conversation doesn't Feel like my other experiences with anxiety and nervousness, where I feel like physically held back or barricade from participating in the way I Want to. The thoughts would be there I just wouldn't be able to Voice them.

But there Are No Thoughts. It's a cold and silent wind blowing over a dark and dusty barren field, it's white noise static on a screen occasionally permeated with enough of an emotional reaction and recognition that I have to do Something to generate.. generic platitudes that don't really go anywhere.. (Though sometimes, Sometimes, like 10-20 minutes later, when I'm on my own again and Ruminating on fumbling Yet Another attempt to Participate and reach out, I'll be able to think of good engaging and charismatic responses I Could have used. Perhaps suggesting this Is a very extreme form of this anxiety where the nerves are screaming So loud it drowns out all else, which would explain why I can kinda get over this when having text conversations it just takes me about Ten Million Years to formulate a response.) And that's like... what the hell do I Do... about that. ? All the solutions I can come up with involve... having had thoughts. Which doesn't really help because again, it's not having thoughts but struggling to translate or release them, there is nothing there to release. Just silence, just static, vacant gaping hole where my brain should be.

I had a good chance to maybe form some connections with local comics artists via a zine fest today at the library but I was in and out in like ten minutes maybe less because I 1) only had like 20 bucks and that wasn't enough and I have Other Issues dealing with standing at someones table and then not buying anything, it makes me Feel Bad. and 2) Just could not hold a conversation to save my life! There were at least a few people there that I did stop buy a little bit I would have loved to have longer talks with and we'd probably hit it off but my brain blanked out and I nodded politely as they told me what was on there table, sweated a little bit in silence, bought something quickly and then ran away!! like!

Fuck man! I know I'm more of a person than that inside! but it sometimes it really doesn't feel like it! sometimes it really feels like I'm an animated husk with ideas above his station just kinda wandering around and sometimes stumbling into things sideways enough people think I'm a complete person! With this zine fest at least I know it's a local thing so I can try a different strategy of just Being There Physically often enough that people start to recognize me even if I don't say much which will ease the tension I guess?? Still strangers but not Complete strangers you know? For anything else though Idk what I'm going to do...

[ericapooh]

Consider me (Bakugo x Fem! reader)

Part 2 - The Discussion

The weekend went by like a breeze and you were finally back at UA but you dreaded returning to the dorm since Saturday. Back home you've had enough time to really assess everything. But why were you so terrified of accepting Bakugo's invitation? 

You wanted to ask someone's opinion so badly, unfortunately you were embarrassed to talk about your love life with your parents. So, you decided to wait till Monday and ask the girls for advice.

Monday morning came, classes as usual, except for the pair of beautiful crimson eyes watching your every move. You may have dreaded Monday but Bakugo was excited even if he won't admit it. Who wouldn't be? He was going to see you again. Even though you unintentionally broke his heart a little, you were still the highlight of his day.

Of course, you didn't realize this because you didn't what answer to give him in response to him asking you out on a date. This made you uneasy because of the guilt that you feel the whole morning. Bakugo on the other hand was in a good mood, not that anyone can tell, but he felt butterflies.

The lunch bell finally rang and you joined Asui, Uraraka, Iida, Todorki, and Midoriya at their table. It was Iida and Midoriya who were engaged in discussion about your lessons earlier while the rest of you listened to them and offered some of your thoughts every now and then.

While the two boys were still busy talking, you're eyes unconsciously wandered to the pair who have watched you ceaselessly and you were reminded, once again, of the promise you made to the person who was seated two tables from you.

You quickly pulled your gaze away and immediately thought of how to talk to the girls without inviting any of the boys, particularly the three you're having lunch with. Fortunately enough, Asui was seated next to you who was now joining in on Midoriya and Iida's conversation.

'Right! I'll ask Tsu if she can help me. But I have to talk to her alone.'

While you're still formulating how to pull her aside the school bell signaling that lunch period was over interrupted your thoughts.

Your group each rose from your table, collecting your trays and returning them to the counter.

This was your chance. You waited for Midoriya, Iida, Todoroki, and Uraraka to walk ahead before talking to Asui.

Y/N:

"Hey, Tsu. Can I ask you a favor?"

You asked in a slightly hushed tone.

Tsuyu:

"Of course, Y/N-chan. What is it?"

She answered without an ounce of hesitation.

Y/N:

"Well, I was wondering if I could come by your room tonight, if it's not any trouble? There's something that I needed help with and maybe ask your advice on it."

But before she could reply, Kaminari's laughter caught both of your attention. His group was heading your way towards the exit. Apparently, Kaminari was joined by Sero, Kirishima, Ojiro, Sato, and Bakugo.

As they passed by, they said their hello's to the two of you, except Bakugo. His eyes were on you the whole time and this did not escape Asui as the slight blush on your face confirmed her suspicion.

(A/N: This is  the closest expression I could find of him that would fit what I see in my head.)

It's undeniable. Only a fool would say there is nothing between you and Bakugo because the way he looks at you is just different and the way you reacted was nothing but a slight indication. And because of this, Asui, kind of, understands what's going on and what she can do to help.

If Asui was delighted by the scenario, she didn't show it. 

Tsuyu:

"Well, it won't be a problem y/n-chan. But is it something that only I can help you with?"

Well, that got you thinking. She's not the only person in your class that you consider as a friend, there are the other girls and the rest of the boys too. But given the nature of your dilemma, you thought it best to just stick with your girl-friends.

Y/N:

"I think inviting the other girls would be better. They might be able to offer more insight."

This might be better than just talking to one person, you thought. And it's better to come up with a solution from different angles that the two of you won't be able to consider.

Tsuyu:

"Well, if the other girls can join us, how about we go to your room instead?"

She suggested.

Y/N:

"Oh, yeah. That's a great idea! But I don't want the boys to catch wind of this. Don't get me wrong, their great and they're my friends too. However, I just wanted to talk with just us girls, if that's okay?"

Of course you would! Asui thought, but she respected that there are some things that you can talk to your female friends and not with your male friends.

Asui:

"Of course - Kiro!"

She answered with a smile as the two of you proceeded to go back to class.

Monday was almost done. 

You and your classmates were now lounging in the common room after dinner. Even though you were chatting away with your friends, the uneasiness didn't fade. You needed to get out of there.

In the midst of your girls' conversation about this afternoons hero exercise, you quickly interrupted them for the planned invitation.

Y/N:

"Hey, I was thinking, would you guys like to join me for a group study? Just us girls."

They did not even need a little convincing as they exclaimed that it was an excellent idea.

Y/N:

"Great! Let's meet up in my room."

Your group all headed towards the elevator to prepare for your "girl-group study". Each of you got off your own floor to get study materials before meeting up in your room.

Jirou and Hagakure were the first ones to arrive since the three of you were in the third floor. Uraraka and Ashido knocked a few seconds after the first two guests arrived. Asui and Yaoyorozu soon followed with Yaoyorozu bringing a whole stack of books. She was more excited about this than any of you gathered.

You waited until all of you were seated on the floor before you coughed an "ahem" to get their attention. All 5 girls, except for Tsuyu, turned their attention to you and wondered if you have something that you wanted to say.

Y/N:

"Um. Thank you all for accepting my invitation. But the truth is I didn't invite you guys here to study."

'What?'

They thought. It was Hagakure who spoke for the group.

Hagakure:

"What do you mean, Y/N?"

Before asking Asui earlier at lunch, you thought this would be a great idea and now you don't know where to start.

Yes, you've bonded with your classmates but having a reserved personality is quite difficult in situations like these. You really weren't the type of person to open up quickly to others. If it was up to you, you'd figure this out yourself.

But you wanted to ask them what they would do if they were in your shoes. Would they say yes or would they think more about it?

The six girls were staring at you now with wondering eyes.

Y/N:

"Well, actually...."

It was clear to them that you were having a hard time sharing your problem, but they were glad nonetheless that you reached out to them.

Uraraka:

"What is it Y/N? Are you okay? What's troubling you?"

Concern was heard in her voice and was resonating on the faces of your other friends.

You took a deep breathe to compose yourself and overcome your hesitation of opening up to them.

Y/N:

"Last Friday ... um ... Bakugo came to my room and ... and he ... uh ... asked me if ... if I would ... go on a ... d-date with him."

You finally said it and you closed your eyes expecting the worst and not wanting to see their reaction. But silence was all you heard until Ashido couldn't take it any longer.

Ashido:

"Yes! Finally! Hahaha!"

She exclaimed gleefully. The other girls were elated. 

They were happy that one of their classmate was asked out on a date and by one of their classmates too. 

Though they were also surprised that it was Bakugo who liked you, but they were happy for you nonetheless.

Hagakure:

"Seriously? He asked you out? BAKUGO?!"

Like Ashido, the invisible girl could not hold back her disbelief. Knowing Bakugo, it was definitely unexpected.

Uraraka:

"I don't believe it! Bakugo likes you!"

It wasn't just them that got surprised, you were surprised by their reaction too. You couldn't believe that they're actually happy for you. 

This is different, you thought. 

This was the first time that someone was actually happy for you. You do have great friends from your previous school but you never got to find out whether they would react the same way as your friends here did.

In truth, you weren't born aloof, it's just that you have met people in your younger years that have treated you badly which resulted to you keeping to yourself and you always thought that people will always give you that kind of treatment. But these people right here proved you wrong.

It felt nice, really, to know that they were your friends.

Yaoyorozu:

"And what did you say, Y/N? Did you accept his invitation?"

Even the class VP got excited.

Y/N:

"Well, I haven't given him an answer yet."

You answered here, without meeting her bright eyes, scratching your neck.

Jirou:

"Eh? What do you mean you haven't?"

Jiyo Kyouka was the cool one in the group but knowing that you didn't give Bakugo an answer made her lose it.

Y/N:

"I got scared okay! I didn't know what to say."

Yes, you wanted Bakugo to really like you but talking with them now made you realize why. You were scared that he would change his mind if he got to know the real you.

Ashido:

"What do you mean you don't know? Yes!  All you have to say is yes!"

If Mina was in your shoes she would unhesitatingly say yes and that's what she would want you to say.

The other girls nodded their heads in agreement.

Y/N:

"Mina, it's not that easy!"

You tried to reason out.

Mina was right, that's all you had to do, yet your insecurities made it difficult for you. 

Sure, we all have insecurities but growing up with them made you believe that it is true and you won't believe when people say otherwise. This made you anxious of letting people into your life.

Asui:

"What is it, Y/N-chan?"

Your anxiety made it really hard for you to do this but you know you have to. You've made great friends, both in Shiketsu and in UA, so you decided to be brave.

Y/N:

"Well ... I'm actually scared ... that he'd realize that he doesn't like me after all if ... if ... he came to know me more."

What you said surprised them, especially Uraraka.

Uraraka:

"Well, he'd be an idiot if he did that."

She was right or you wanted to believe that she was right, yet your mind tells you that she isn't.

Y/N:

"Well, what if he really did? I don't think I could bear to have that happen."

You felt defeated even though nothing has happened yet between you and Bakugo. Him confessing to you was too good to be true and you always believed that there's always a catch.

Asui:

"But how do you feel about him, Y/N-chan?"

Now this was what the girls all wanted to know. It was obvious at how they were now looking at you with eagerness. 

Despite you getting close with the girls, you still feel abashed talking about your feelings. This made you bow your head to hide your red face and avoid their inquisitive eyes. However, you still gave them an answer.

Y/N:

"I like him too."

You said shyly and the girls gasped in excitement. For them, it was like a scene from a shoujo manga where the female protagonist consult her female friends on how to confess to the boy she likes.

Hagakure & Ashid:

"SINCE WHEN? SINCE WHEN?"

They said in unison.

Y/N:

"Since day one."

They squealed excitedly at this. It was now Yaoyorozu's turn to speak.

Yaoyorozu:

"Then there's no need for you to be afraid then, Y/N-chan."

'Why not?'

You wondered with your head slightly tilted.

Asui:

"Yamomo-chan's right, Y/N. Don't worry so much about it, as long as you like him that's all that matters. Kiro!"

She said reassuringly.

You were right to consult Asui first. There was something about her that made her reliable, maybe it was the fact that she's an older sister and inviting the others gained you confidence in what to do next.

Y/N:

"You're right, Tsu. Thank you guys for listening."

Delight was clearly painted on their faces knowing that you have grown to rely on them ever since you arrived at UA.

Jirou:

"So, when are you going to tell Bakugo?"

If it was up to them they would've wanted you to do it now. But you wanted to rehears in your mind what you wanted to tell him so you decided to do it tomorrow evening.

Y/N:

"I'll tell him tomorrow after dinner."

"EEEEHHH?!"

Okay, you know they were all excited but you were getting flustered at the thought of confessing to Bakugo so you needed to take your time to compose yourself to properly say how you feel and this was what you explained to the girls. You were thankful that they were convinced and that they will support you 100%. Plus Ultra.

Since it was still early in the evening, the 7 of you agreed to go ahead with the group study all the while talking about what you will say to Bakugo tomorrow.

================================================

Master List

==============================

Sorry for any errors. I really wanted to publish this next part and the next one.

Anyway, thank you for giving this a read and I hope you enjoy it.

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

[funkymbtifiction]

I met someone recently who actually enjoys MBTI/other personality systems and reading about it. My initial impression of her was an ESTP 7-core, mainly because:

-When I ask her about things, her response is “oh yeah, I did that once” vs. “oh yeah, I’ve thought about that before”

-She tends to spend free time engaging with the outside world so she doesn’t ruminate in her head for too long

-She says that to unwind from her job (programming) she needs to make things with her hands or otherwise be active

-She’s expressed general existential worries and described lacking direction before (tends to dive into something new that gives her structure rather than shaping the future directly)

-When speaking with her, her style was more in-depth explanatory and focusing on what happened in a situation rather than bouncing from topic to topic (though she did bounce to new ideas as well and notice this aloud while doing so. I think almost all 7s do that tbh.)

Yeah, sounds like an ESP for sure.

She thinks of herself as ENTP 7. She said this was because she’s definitely an intuitive type because her thoughts can be very internalized and in-depth. I could see that in her as well, but my thought was more “you’re in your head a lot because all Enneagram head types are.” Character-wise she reminds me of Eda from The Owl House, who you typed ENTP 7, and both individuals spend a lot of time messing around with the outside world.

Sensors often think they are intuitive due to intuitive bias -- descriptions that glorify intuition and make sensors sound boring. And all head types are intense 'thinkers' -- so they will mistype as being more intellectual and/or even "thinkers" where they may not be. Being a head type is separate from rational reasoning. ESPs can be deep thinkers, intellectual, etc., it doesn't make them not-a-sensor.

I struggle with typing N/S-doms a lot I think, because it doesn’t seem to me that sensors ruminate less than intuitives do. For example, her saying she was an ENTP made me think “maybe intuitive bias, because many ESTP 7s think they’re ENTPs. Wait. How do I know I haven’t been an ISFJ all this time? I see my mindset as single-minded but I’m not all that abstract, but I hate thinking about the past…” etc. So now I feel slightly less sure that I’m an INFJ, and a lot less sure of how much thinking and talking patterns can be used to identify Ne/Se-dom vs. Ni/Si-dom. It seems like sensors think too much and intuitives do too much to truly be dominant in either (especially for people with Fe, which tends to result in wanting interaction a lot more.)

Self-doubt in a typing means you haven't yet learned in-depth what the functions are and how to differentiate between them; you aren't aware of how you are thinking and why yet. Keep studying. You will get better at it. Once you know enough, and are self-aware enough, to see your own functions in action -- you can't "un-see" them. If, however, you are not "all that abstract," there's a high possibility that you might have a different dominant function than Ni. INFJs trust their insights and live in an abstract sphere, which puts them out of touch with reality at times (inferior Se and no Te). There is also a difference between "I hate thinking about the past" and "But I trust what is established and has proven successful."

If you haven't gotten my book yet -- get it. It goes into all of this, in-depth, without a bias and shows how creative and interesting the inner world of Ni and Si is.

What makes an intuitive/sensor?

An intuitive sees the forest, a sensor sees the trees. An intuitive loses the trees for the forest, the sensor loses the forest for the trees. In other words, one is big picture thinking and the other is present-focused. One is good at formulating dreams and rotten at seeing actual reality for itself, the other is good at interacting with the real world but poor at reading between the lines accurately.

Intuition works unconsciously and tells you things before they are about to happen -- in high intuition, it's often accurate in predicting things because it's paying attention to the unseen patterns and playing a game of "likelihood of chance." For example, I rarely get surprised by twists and turns in real life, because people tell me things and I just "know" how it's probably likely to turn out -- so when it turns out that way, I ready knew it was going to happen so there's no shock involved in the result. EG, someone tells me about a situation in their life, my intuition tells me "at some point, Y is going to happen," and a couple of weeks later, sure enough, Y has happened. I don't have to think hard about it -- the answer just comes to me while they are talking about it. Sometimes it happens a week later, sometimes six months later, sometimes a year later, but my 'hidden eye' sees what's coming down the pipeline. Because I'm an intuitive-feeler, most of these insights focus around people, their actions, and their emotional dynamics, but the intuitive-thinkers in my life are exceptionally accurate in predicting political strategies and 'fallouts.' Intuition is literally reading between the lines and coming up with the right answer -- it's thinking about Y, which is a deviation from what others are thinking about, and leaping to a baseless conclusion that you have to wait for reality to "prove" is accurate. It doesn't happen all the time that I am right, but often enough that I unconsciously form and operate off unproven assumptions (by trusting that it's "already real") all the time. I am also quite good at intuitively assuming things about history to fill in a gap -- and then later, reading something in an unrelated historical field that proves my assumption was accurate. So intuition is really just "knowing" the answer even if you haven't studied that particular thing (your brain just fills in the blanks), and then looking for proof that you are right.

[saltybaltic]

hello! if you’re taking requests as of right now, could I request a fic involving an extremely shy avenger!reader having an enormous crush on Nat and it being a running joke among the team because she doesn’t have a clue when it’s so painfully obvious to everyone else? I don’t care how it ends, go wild.... (take that as you will)

Natasha Romanoff X Reader - CONFIDENCE

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic

Synopsis: You have a huge crush on one of your team mates but you’re too shy to ever do anything about it. Fortunately, people have noticed and you might be about to get some help.

Warnings: None

Words: 989

“You know she likes you right?”

Natasha’s hands stilled on the keyboard for a second, looking up at her friend with a frown, “Who?”

Scoffing at her answer, Clint took a swig of his coffee before responding, “Who? Like you don’t know.”

“Forgive me, I thought everyone on this team liked me.” shot back Natasha, giving him a sarcastic smile and going back to her work on the laptop.

Clint rolled his eyes and placed his mug on the coffee table, flopping down onto the sofa beside the red head and nudging her computer playfully with his foot to get her attention again, “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“And you’re being deliberately annoying.” muttered Natasha, shifting over slightly on the sofa so she was nestled in the corner out of his reach.

“Fine, you win.” conceded Clint, raising his hands in surrender before reaching for his coffee again, “But you should do something about it and stop letting that poor girl work herself into a fluster around you.”

Of course Natasha knew exactly who he was talking about. Everyone on the team seemed to know. In fact the only person who didn’t seem to realise you had a huge crush on The Black Widow was, well, you.

You had always been shy, and although joining The Avengers had succeeded in bringing you out of your shell a little, there was still certain social situations that you just couldn’t handle very well. So it was no surprise that when a beautiful woman flirted with you on occasion, you tended to find yourself reduced to a blushing, bumbling mess.

Natasha wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t deliberately toying with you or taking any pleasure in your squirming. Okay maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Did she find it cute when you would duck your head and fumble over your words whenever she sent a flirtatious comment your way? A little. But she wasn’t doing it to mess with you. She wanted to challenge you, encourage you, dare you to make a move. Because despite what you might be willing to believe, she liked you too. Ever since you had joined the team she had become quite fond of you, finding your quick wit, humour and kindness to others rather endearing. She saw the way you interacted with the others; laughing and making jokes, teasing one another playfully, and generally looking after each other. You had become something of a weakness of hers, finding her eyes drawn to you around the compound and just watching from a distance. All Natasha wanted was for you to finally gather the courage to interact with her in the same way, and she definitely wasn’t the only one on the team that was desperate for you to realise you had a crush.

At much the same time as Clint was questioning Natasha upstairs, you found yourself being given the workout of your life in the gym with Steve. Now they weren’t exactly giving out slots on the team to anyone off the street so you knew you possessed some desirable abilities, but going toe to toe with Captain America was a challenge for anyone on their best day.

Gesturing with your hands for a time out, you sucked in a breath and gripped your waist where you could feel a stitch forming, “Jesus Steve, let’s take five, you’re kicking my ass.”

“You’re doing great though.” encouraged Steve with a small chuckle, tossing you a water bottle from the corner of the gym mat, “I can tell you’ve been practicing.”

You shrugged, “Well as the newest team member, I feel I had some catching up to do.”

“Don’t talk like that, you’re already where you need to be.” reassured Steve, walking closer as he seemed to hesitate for a moment before deciding to speak, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little more self confidence.”

“I have enough confidence.”

Steve nodded slowly, obviously not wanting to cross a line but still wanting to say something, “Around me? Sure. But you should be more confident around others.”

“Like who?” you asked, watching Steve carefully over your water bottle as you took a few gulps.

“Like Natasha.”

You almost choked on your water, “W-Why ... errr ... why do you say that?”

“You like her, right?”

Scratching at the back of your neck uncomfortably, you tossed the drink to one side, “That’s enough of a break, let’s go again.”

“Hey.” Steve grabbed your arm to stop you from heading back into the centre of the mat and offered a reassuring smile, “Look, I’m just saying. Try not to be so shy around her, she’s not as scary as she’d have you believe. Plus, between you and me? I’m pretty sure she likes you too.”

“I don’t ...” you trailed off in thought for a second. Did you like Natasha? You definitely admired her. You envied her confidence and sass. She was an impressive woman, not to mention absolutely gorgeous. And you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed and flattered whenever she would flirt with you. It drove you crazy with frustration how shy you could be around her and that you were never able to say or do anything in response. It wasn’t lack of desire that was stopping you, of course you wanted to flirt back with her. Who wouldn’t?

A frown started to develop on your face the longer you thought about it, realisation suddenly dawning on you. It was so obvious now. You didn’t just admire Natasha, Steve was right - you did like her.

He seemed to see the lightbulb moment as it unfolded, patting you on the shoulder reassuringly with a small laugh as he motioned you back towards where you had been sparring, “Don’t worry about it, just something to think about. Now come on, show me what you’re made of.”

You let yourself process the discussion with Steve for a few days, keeping mostly to yourself as you thought about it in depth. You almost felt stupid for taking so long to realise, so much of the past few weeks making sense now. There had been more than a few occasions where a team mate had made a teasing comment, all in good fun of course, about your blushes and stuttering around Natasha. You had assumed it was just banter amongst friends about your chronic shyness but now it was painfully obvious that you were the last person in the building to realise you had a crush on Natasha.

Although you had given yourself adequate time to consider your revelation, you hadn’t exactly formulated a plan to deal with it. Unfortunately it seemed that you weren’t going to be given any more time to come up with something, when your quiet evening alone on the sofa was interrupted by the very woman who had been consuming your thoughts.

“Mind if I join you?” asked Natasha, plonking herself down on the sofa beside you without waiting for a response.

Shifting your attention from the movie on the television, you looked across at the other woman and swallowed, already feeling your mouth becoming dry as you silently shook your head.

“What you watching?”

You blinked, taking a moment to inhale a calming breath and internally encouraging yourself before engaging your brain to speak, “I-I don’t know really, it was just on and I kind of got sucked in.”

Natasha nodded, glancing at the television briefly as she leaned back against the sofa. Her arm lay across the cushions, bent at the elbow as she raised her hand and rested her chin on it. Her eyes drifted back to meet yours, watching you carefully, “The boys say I make you nervous. Is that true?”

Panic.

Your first instinct was to run, heart hammering against your rib cage as for the first time, Natasha put you on the spot. You could already feel the heat rising in your cheeks and there was a distinct possibility your palms were sweating.

“I errr ...” you took another breath to compose yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to remain calm, “I suppose it is, yeah.”

Natasha’s lips turned up slightly at that, her chin still balanced on her hand as she studied you, “You shouldn’t be nervous.”

“I shouldn’t?”

Shaking her head, Natasha broke out into a proper smile, “I mean don’t get me wrong, you look cute when you’re nervous.”

At her comment you had to look away, biting down on your lip and pressing the back of your hand to your cheek to confirm the fact that yes, you were definitely getting flushed now.

Natasha chuckled quietly, “Yeah, there it is.”

Hoping to take Steve’s advice and scrambling for all the courage you could muster, you looked back at the other woman and cocked your head curiously, “Do you just enjoy toying with me or ...?”

“Or what?” asked Natasha, the subtle smirk on her face suggesting she knew exactly what you were asking. After a few seconds of silence, she took the initiative and filled in the blanks for you, not wanting to put you on the spot too much given that this was already the longest the two of you had ever spoken, “I’m not toying with you ... I was just trying to gauge whether the rumours were true and if I should ask you out on a date.”

You had to fight not to gasp in surprise, sure that it would probably be the most embarrassing response you could have, “A ... a date? With me?”

“Well I don’t see anyone else around.” joked Natasha, gesturing around the empty room, “Unless you don’t want to.”

Shaking your head perhaps a little too eagerly, you turned your body to face her properly, “No that. Um. That would be nice.”

“Great.” answered Natasha, shooting you a reassuring smile as she went to get up from the sofa, “How does tomorrow night sound?”

“I ... that would. Err. Sure. Tomorrow. Good. Yes.” you could barely speak now, sure this must be some kind of fever dream and it couldn’t actually be happening.

Natasha simply laughed, standing up and leaning over to squeeze your shoulder gently before turning to make her way out of the room, “Yeah you’re still cute. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Unable to do or say anything else, you silently watched her walk away, unable to quite believe what had just unfolded. Natasha Romanoff had asked you out on a date.

As if finally realising what had just happened, you couldn’t help but break out into a smile. If it meant Natasha had finally asked you out, maybe all that teasing from the rest of the team had been good for something after all.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :) 

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends. 

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier. 

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier. 

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off. 

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go. 

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach. 

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure. 

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.” 

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.” 

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side. 

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated. 

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?” 

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip. 

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?” 

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.” 

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].” 

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously. 

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape. 

[tickly-trashcan]

The Best {Xiao, Hu Tao, and Venti}

A/N: i decided to treat myself today hehe but don’t worry, i’m still working on prompts, but i took a short break to write this (and prepare for school which also started today) but i’m already back on them! anyways, I hope everyone enjoys this and has a lovely day~

Summary: Xiao, Hu Tao, and Venti are all meeting up for a picnic. But things quickly get out of hand for Xiao...

Word Count: 1.7k (under the cut)

Xiao fumbled with his thumbs as he waited for his friends to arrive. They had agreed to meet together near Liyue, and he was currently the only one there.

He sat patiently, though he couldn’t help fidgeting. He would never admit it, but he was excited to see his friends, and he had been looking forward to meeting up with them for several days. They had been planning on having a picnic, and Xiao had offered to bring something, but both of them insisted on Xiao just relaxing and enjoying the food.

“Xiao! Hi~!” A voice came, and Xiao turned to see Venti skipping towards him with a basket full of treats. He set them down and quickly threw himself on Xiao, hugging him tightly as he giggled, petting Xiao’s head.

“Hey, just because I wasn’t here yet doesn’t mean you guys can engage in PDA!” Another person said. Venti and Xiao looked up to see Hu Tao standing above them, one hand on her hip as the other held a back, likely filled with more food.

“Ah, hello Hu Tao,” Xiao said softly, then looked at Venti. “Hello to you too, Venti.”

Hu Tao set the bag down and hugged Xiao from behind, sandwiching him between his two friends as he wheezed, tapping their shoulders to show that he needed some air. Hu Tao and Venti giggled as their released their friend, allowing him to breathe as they unpacked their drinks and snacks, setting them down on the ground as they sat in a circle, digging in.

Almond tofu, apple pie, crystal shrimp, golden crab… there was way too much for the three of them, but they still all managed to eat most of it, full and content as the sun started to set in the distance. 

Hu Tao sighed loudly, laying back down in the grass before looking over at Xiao and Venti, giggling.

“I think I ate more than you guys.”

“No, Venti ate that entire apple pie himself,” Xiao pointed out, and Venti sat up, whining.

“Hey! You had like… a bite!”

Hu Tao and Xiao laughed as Venti pouted. He folded his arms across his chest, smirking at Xiao as he spoke.

“Bold words from someone within tickling distance.”

Xiao’s eyes widened and he shook his head, holding his hands up in front of him. “Venti, I was only kidding!”

“Aiya, look at the situation you’ve gotten yourself in!” Hu Tao teased when Xiao backed up against her, Hu Tao grinning at him. He looked at Venti, who was already wiggling his fingers, and ducked behind Hu Tao, making her laugh.

“My my, Xiao, I thought you liked this! And it’s been so long since we really got to tickle you!” Hu Tao teased, and Xiao paled, realizing he wasn’t safe from her either. He went to run, but Hu Tao caught his ankle, pulling him back as he yelped.

“Nooo! Wait, wait! I’m sorry, Venti!”

“Too late~!” Venti cooed, pouncing on Xiao as Hu Tao giggled, Xiao’s own laughter immediately echoing around them as Venti squeezed his hips.

“Nohohoho! Plehehease, I’m sohohorry! Wahahait, no, Hu Tao-!” Xiao squealed as Hu Tao joined in, scribbling her fingers up and down his ribcage, using her nails expertly to get in between the grooves of every rib.

“NAHaha! Hu Tahahahao, not thehehere!”

“But Xiaooo~!” Hu Tao faux whined, smirking as she started to gently squeeze his ribcage, making Xiao shriek as he tried to squirm away, only getting himself more stuck in Venti’s tickles.

“Xiao’s laugh is just as cute as it was last time, wouldn’t you agree, Hu Tao?”

“Definitely! If anything, it’s gotten cuter!”

Xiao whined through his already frantic laughter as Hu Tao and Venti teased him, both with their hands and their words as he could do nothing but wiggle and laugh.

Venti climbed up from his hips, lightly skittering his fingers across the expanse of Xiao’s tummy, making him wail and squirm, trying to curl up. With Venti and Hu Tao on either side of him, curling up was probably his best option.

“Nuh-uh-uh, none of that! Don’t make this worse for yourself, Xiao~” Venti cooed when Xiao started curling up. He went for his hips again, finding the sweet spot right where his hips and thighs met and squeezing it, making Xiao positively squeal.

He started to uncurl slightly, but when he did, Hu Tao instead went for his tummy, using her nails as she fluttered up and down. She focused just a bit on his lower tummy, knowing it was just a tad more sensitive as Xiao shrieked.

He didn’t know which was worse, and he didn’t know where to focus. He tried swatting at Hu Tao’s hands and kicking his legs to try and shake off Venti, but nothing was working and the vicious tickling continued. 

“No mohohohohore, plehehease! I caha - I can’t! Hah-HAhaha!”

Hu Tao and Venti ignored Xiao’s pleas, knowing when he actually wanted them to stop that he would say the word. Venti and Hu Tao exchanged a glance with each other, and the two of them smirked, though Xiao didn’t notice because his eyes were squeezed shut in hopes of ignoring the sensations (spoiler alert: it wasn’t working).

“I wonder which one of us is making Xiao laugh more, don’t you?” Hu Tao pondered aloud, looking at Venti cheekily.

“Oh, I bet I am. After all, I am a better tickler,” Venti said confidently, squeezing Xiao’s upper thigh and making him squeal to prove his point.

“No way! Maybe we should have Xiao tell us who’s better?”

“Nohohoho! Dohon’t you dare!” Xiao exclaimed, already knowing where this was going. But there was hardly anything he could do to stop it as Hu Tao and Venti grinned evilly at him. 

“Dibs on his tummy~!” Venti called out, and Hu Tao whined.

“You know that’s his best spot, cheater!”

Venti only giggled as Hu Tao pouted, pulling her hands away from Xiao’s tummy as she went up behind him instead. She grabbed his arms, making him squeak as she tucked his arms under her knees, making Xiao panic.

“No no no, Hu Tao! Not that, plehease!” He giggled already, even though neither Venti or Hu Tao were currently tickling him. Hu Tao only grinned, wiggling her fingers deviously.

“Not what? I’m not even doing anything!” Hu Tao giggled, lowering her hands as Xiao tried to pull his arms free, giggling even though she hadn’t even touched him yet. He shrieked when she faked him out, bursting into frantic laughter when Venti started his own torture on Xiao’s tummy.

Hu Tao started to lightly scribble her nails under Xiao’s arms, making him squeal as he threw his head back, his laughter doubling over as his face warmed, both from embarrassment and from how hard he was laughing.

“AHAhaharchons, wahahait! Plehehease, no mohohohore!” Xiao yelled, his laughter dipping more into cackling territory as he shook his head, tugging on his arms and kicking his legs as he tried to shake off his attackers. They wouldn’t let up, however, and it somehow managed to get worse.

Hu Tao started lightly raking her nails down the inside of Xiao’s arm, making sure to circle around the hollow of his underarm before scribbling in it, driving Xiao absolutely mad. Meanwhile, Venti had started pinching at the sides of his tummy, giving him quick, occasional raspberries that kept catching Xiao off-guard.

“Who’s better Xiao? It’s me, right?” Venti asked, blowing another raspberry as soon as he finished his sentence, making Xiao shriek.

Xiao couldn’t even formulate a proper sentence since he was so hysterical. Instead, he just shook his head, making Venti boo.

“What, you don’t think I’m the best? I’ll show you!”

“Just admit it, Venti! I’m a better tickler than you!” Hu Tao chuckled, now raking up Xiao’s ribcage as he hiccuped and laughed beneath her. “I’m better, right Xiao?”

In hopes of getting it to stop, he nodded his head, agreeing with Hu Tao as she finally stopped, punching a fist into the air.

“Yes! Take that, Venti!”

Venti grumbled, looking at Xiao evilly as he slowly recovered, glancing at Venti as he panted heavily.

“I think you’ve made a bad decision, Xiao~”

Xiao panicked, already squirming again as Venti started squeezing his hips, digging his thumb lightly into the hipbone as Xiao hollered, squealing when Venti simultaneously blew several raspberries on his tummy.

“VEHEhehenti! Nohohoho, I tahahake it back! I’m sohohorry, you’re behetter!!” Xiao gasped out, and he heard Hu Tao behind him gasp.

“Xiao! You lied to me? You know what happens when you lie, right~?”

“Nohohoho! I didn’t mehehean it!”

“Make up your mind, Xiao! Who’s better?” Venti taunted, still going after his hips in a cruel way before placing one more raspberry directly below his navel. Xiao shrieked.

“I cahahahan’t! I’m sohohorry!”

Hu Tao prodded at Xiao’s ribs, making him whine through his laughter as Venti continued to knead his hips, driving Xiao up the wall with ticklish agony.

“Stop! Stahahap! Plehehease, I cahahan’t!”

Hu Tao and Venti halted, giving Xiao a chance to breathe. Hu Tao released his arms and Venti got off of him, and the two of them sat on either side of Xiao, watching with soft smiles as he collected himself.

“Y-You two… you’re both good. Neither of you are better.”

“Eh, I’ll take it,” Venti said, chuckling as Xiao shot him a dirty look. Hu Tao helped Xiao sit up, giving him a quick hug as she giggled.

“I am better though, right?”

Xiao groaned, pushing Hu Tao away as she laughed. Venti hummed, looking over the horizon of Liyue as the sky turned a light shade of violet, showing that most of the sun had set.

“Well, it looks like we’ve had more than enough fun today. Wouldn’t you agree, Xiao? I’m sure you enjoyed yourself~” Venti teased, watching Xiao go red before standing.

“We should do this again sometime soon! How about tomorrow?” Hu Tao offered, picking up her bag as Venti nodded.

“Only if we get to tickle Xiao again!”

Xiao lightly pushed Venti, making the bard chirp before he jumped on Xiao’s back, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his waist.

“Bye-bye Hu Tao!” Venti called, waving to the brunette as she waved back, skipping off towards Liyue.

“I’m not bringing you home…” Xiao mumbled, and Venti hummed.

“Are you suuure~?” He cooed, fluttering his fingers on Xiao’s neck as he gasped, scrunching up his shoulders.

“Fine! Just - Just don’t do that again.”

“Alright, but no promises for tomorrow!”

Xiao flushed as he walked Venti home, mind swirling as he smiled softly to himself. Today had been… fun.

[zakthefiend]

The Shadow of the Night

(Happy Birthday @pebster​! I hope this adds to the celebration very well! Damn it’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these hasn’t it? Life gets in the way, new hyperfixations, Tumblr constantly killing itself, same old and same old. Well I feel like I’ve written a lot from other sources so why not return to my first MMORPG with a bang! Tyrande VS Sylvanas! Night Warrior vs Banshee Queen! Personally I didn’t much care for the cinematic, looked nice but I’ve long since given up on Blizzard actually doing good with their characters. That aside, my personal thoughts on WoW deserves it’s own separate post and shouldn’t be here where I gift an old muse and friend of mine something she’s probably been wanting for a long time. So without further adieu, I hope you enjoy!)

Ciradel lunges forward with her moon blades ready, her Elven weapons focused on their mark and their serrated edges threatened to rend the Banshee’s neck wide open! Suddenly she feels a shadow over take her chest before a sudden force smashed into her chest and sent her hurdling back! Her back slams into the ground, the force shaking her to her very core as she tried to pull herself back up. The Warden could barely catch her breath from such an attack yet willed herself back on her feet. Her fellow wardens were trapped in the midst of battle with the Jailer’s forces, and only she could delay Sylvanas from completing her ritual at that moment.

“Damn it!” She curses, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth quickly as she coughed some up in her helmet. Her hands rested over her chest and felt the overall damage. A cracked breastplate would explain why some of her ribs feel almost like dust now. Ciradel tried to regain focus, focusing on her stance again before drawing her moon blade again. Her breathing was ragged but as a Warden of Elune she must fulfill her duty before death!

Sylvanas simply took a glance at her before refocusing on the ritual once more, her attentions better spent on something far more important than Elune’s attack dog.

The Warden tried to move but found herself stumbling too much and ultimately fell to her knees. She tears off her helmet and coughs loudly while sucking in as much air as she could. Her hands gripped the grass beneath her and watched it slowly change colors from teal to black and grey. She felt the plants wither in her gauntlets and further inspection shows it all but ash in her hands. The sight of it, the smell of death that now permeated the air, it flashed images of her home before her eyes. The devastation brought on by the War of Thorn and the burning of Teldrassil ran before her very eyes. The faint screams and dying flames filling her minds and dulling her hearing before ultimately succumbing to the crushing weight of despair upon her shoulders.

“Poor lost soldier...” Sylvanas says, lowering herself to the ground and standing over Ciradel with a slight smirk on her face. “So hard you have fought for kin and nation, to stand for Elune only to watch her leave you to your fate. It reminds me so much of an old life I once had.” 

Ciradel looks up, but not with a face of fear or intense grief, she stares up defiantly to Sylvanas. Tears running down her cheek as her blood stained teeth gritted as she stares into the Banshee Queen’s scarlet eyes. “I do not fear you, banshee! Kill me and raise my body if you wish, but my mind and soul belongs to the Kaldorei! I will not forsake my people as you have yours!”

That smirk faded, and a dark look overcame the Banshee’s face before drawing her bow. “Then die braver than most, Warden.”

Ciradel prepared for the arrow to make it’s mark, and muttered her prayers before feeling something yank her from her armor collar with such a sheer force of speed that she had thought it teleportation! She quickly gathers herself and the situation, seeing the Banshee Queen almost yards away from where she originally was only centimeters from here the arrow was pointed at her head! 

Then, she saw her.

High Priestess of Elune: Tyrande Whisperwind.

The woman who brought back the Night Warriors to the Night Elves after their darkest hour, the one to have stood against Azshara when she sought to bring Sargeras to the world, and the woman who lead the Night Elves through the many wars and battles Azeroth has had over countless centuries. She stood over Ciradel, almost a towering presence now with the powers of the Night Warrior changed her appearance more now. A moon hovered above her head like a halo, as the markings she had received from her transformation now dazzled like stars upon a night sky, and runes of azure blue glowed across her arms and legs as she held her glaive in her other hand.

She let go of the warden, and gave it a wave and suddenly Ciradel felt her body completely healed of all it’s wounds! She looks up to Tyrande, whose black eyes stared at Sylvanas with a hatred rivaled only by Maev’s loathing of Illidan and of the Xaxa’s himself!

“Go.” She said to Ciradel, treating it less like a demand and more like something she was supposed to do, “Aid the others with repelling these deathless mongrels from these lands. Sylvanas is mine to rend justice upon.”

The Warden looked between the two, feeling these two near demigods were about to engage had her prepared to leave. She stood up quick and looked to Tyrande a final time. “Shaha lor’ma, Tyrande. Elune-Adore, an Andu-Falah-Dor!” Ciradel fled the scene to return to the other Wardens at the battle, leaving those two alone to their battle.

(Darnassian: ”Thank you, Tyrande. Elune be with you, and let the balance be restored!”)

 ______________________________________________________________

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with an axe, the two Elves who walked the path of vengeance were faced to face once more. Their previous fight back on Azeroth, where Tyrande had caught up to Sylvanas was interrupted and left unfinished until now. The peerless void filled eyes glared towards Sylvanas, returning the stare with a scowl as the memory of their last fight still burned in her mind.

“So. You found me once again. Did you wish for an award of some kind?” Sylvanas starts, opening her hands and closing them around twin shortswords of Quel’dorei design now warped to reflecting her darker attire now.

Tyrande took out her other Glaive from behind her, and did not hesitate with her answer. “Your head.”

Sylvanas nodded, removing her cloak and tossing it aside and shaked her head free of her cowl before smugly responding to her hunter: “Then come and try.”

Tyrande lunged forward, slamming her galives against Sylavanas’s blades and used her weight to swing the other blade at the banshee’s arm. Sylvanas quickly ducked beneath the swing and pulled her blades down with her and moved in to stab Tyrande in her gut but watched her swing herself out of the way for another slash to the Banshee Queen!

The two Elves were caught in a dance of blades and swords, each moving to a different tune and song of battle and war. Tyrande heard and felt the drums of the Kaldorei beat and boom as thunder inside her mind as she swung and spun herself with the weight of her blades and body against Sylvanas. The Banshee however felt the solemn sounds of a lute strummed and played louder and quicker within her, her parry’s and dodges and counters constantly keeping the other on their toes the entire fight. Neither dared to use their magic for this fight, as this was an almost ritualistic tradition that both Elven women of their races held close to their heart. With every swing that cuts the Banshee, the Priestess felt a stab to the exposed flesh of her armor. With every missed slash of the short swords came the near death experience of the magical glaives coming towards her neck. While the music within them played to different tones and themes, it was the same song that began to control their movements in an almost entranced way.

It ultimately ended when Sylvanas pierced Tyrande’s midsection with her blades, watching the woman drop her weapons from over her head to the ground. It was over.

Sylvanas won.

That is, until Tyrande gripped her fists together and swung a hammerfist across the Quel’dorei’s face! Sylvanas immediately stumbled backwards from the sheer force of the swing before forced to stop when Tyrande stomped her foot down on top of hers and swung a right hook across her face! She pulled her arms up to guard her face from the next punch, but felt an uppercut to her gut nearly shook her entire armor!

Sylvanas forced her foot free, and quickly side stepped the next punch and quickly backed away from the Night Elf to formulate a counter. Unfortunately Tyrande was on top of her the entire time and refused to give her a moment of rest. The next swing slammed into a tree and the bark practically exploded off from the force of the punch! Her knuckles bloodied from the swing, she gritted her teeth towards Sylvanas who used her new powers to bind Tyrande in shadowy chains long enough to catch her breath. In that moment, she realized that the Night Elf still had her swords firmly implanted into her gut! Before anything else could be discovered, a beam of light blasted down from the sky and blasted the Banshee onto the ground! She rolled onto her knees, snapping her fingers as the swords faded away and her bow was summoned into her hands. She quickly took pot shots at Tyrande, who now dashed to grab her Glaives from the ground. She was quick enough to dodge most of the arrows but felt one firmly implanted itself into her shoulder! She let out a quick groan before rolling for her weapons and quickly wielded them to block the next volley of arrows and slashed one in half before charging at her once more.

Sylvanas quickly realized the position she’d be in again if Tyrande was to close the gap again, and transformed into her banshee form to fly out of reach! Just as she turned to fire a shot at the Night Warrior, she saw Tyrande had blasted herself at Sylvanas with a mighty leap and slammed herself into the other Elf and the two came crashing back down to the ground below! 

The air around them swirled with a blackish blue dust cloud, before it revealed Tyrande having impaled Sylvanas in her shoulders. Tyrande pinning her as the markings slowly faded, having expended much of her power to healing the stab wounds in her gut and that powerful leap. She kept herself over the Banshee by kneeling over her midrift. The Quel’dorei groaned in pain as she struggled to fight the Night Warrior off her body.

Tyrande leaned close to the pained expression of Sylvanas with a calm fury over her face, before speaking to her in a cold tone: “For Teldrassil, and Elune’s mercy be upon you.”

She pulled her glaive’s out from Sylvanas’s Shoulders, and impaled her in the chest with her weapons! The Banshee cried out, her hands trying to pull the blades out of her body while cutting her hands on the harsh steel of the blades. This pain forcing her to remember her final moments alive at the hands of Arthas all those years ago, forcing a boiling rage to swell within her at being reminded of such a hated memory. Her head rolled back as the pain shot through her body, her eyes burning with fury and pain as she looked back at the one who had done this to her.

In her eyes, she saw no joy nor satisfaction in this act. There was no pleasure in this act of vengeance. No glee or pride found in the Priestess’s eyes. Instead, she saw only pity. She almost saw a hint of regret behind her cold glare, as if she wished she didn’t have to end this life.

Sylvanas breathed heavily, her breathing ragged as she looked at the Night Warrior who kept the blades embedded into her body. She smirked up to the woman, feeling her blood escaping from her mouth.

“I... I suppose this is wh... where you take my head then? Well go on. Your trophy need only a swipe to claim. Ash karath, Tyrande Whisperwind.”

(Darnassian: “Do it, Tyrande Whisperwind.”)

Tyrande pulls a glaive out from her chest, and raised it over her shoulder. She looked down and took a deep breath, “Selama Ashal’anore.”

(Thalassian: “Justice for our people.”)

Just as she swung down, just before her blade could meet the banshee’s neck, she was interrupted by the Jailer’s minions and slammed off Sylvanas. She was pulled away, as the invading forces retreated and left Tyrande behind. She tossed her Glaive at them, but missed as they were too out of range for her. She watched them get further and further away, her breathing quickening as her anger soon boiled over, and she released a blood curdling scream as loud as she could that echoed across the realm!

Tyrande had won, but failed to finish off Sylvanas this time.

(Author’s note: I know, I know, I know, this is a shitty ending. Look we all want Tyrande to put down Sylvanas after all the shit that had happened between them. Hell, I’m hoping they duke it out and the cinematic gets the animation of Saurfang V Sylvanas! But for now, until we get to see where the story goes, she gotta stay alive. Still, I hope you still enjoyed this fic and hope you have a wonderful birthday Pebs.)